| LILLI
PILLI CREEK
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This
intriguing romance drama centers around the friendship and eventual love of
Alexi a Greek boy and Sally a Vietnamese girl. While Sally becomes a Surgeon
Alexi chooses a life of petty crime until he aspirers to become a successful
property developer in
Greece
.
When
a criminal relative who helped sally’s family escape from
Vietnam
threatens them with extortion Alexi’s family becomes involved with a
subsequent threat and danger to their business interests.
The
purchase of a farm by Alexi and Sally allow them to escape from suburbia and
eventually marry and settle down in peace.
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In Store Price: $AU22.95
Online Price: $AU21.95
ISBN:
1921 005 955
Format: Paperback
Number of pages:
189
Genre: Fiction
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Author: William Thomson
Publisher: Zeus Publications
Date Published: 2005
Language: English |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
Born
in 1936 at Germiston in the Transvaal,
South Africa
, where his father was an immigrant gold miner on Simmer and Jack, at that time
the deepest gold mine in the world, he moved the following year to
Durban
in
Natal
when his father was appointed manager of a manufacturing plant.
Raised in the semi-rural outskirts of
Durban
, he was educated at Michaelhouse and later at
Oxford
, where he met his wife, Jill. They returned to
South Africa
and produced their four children in quick succession. Jill continued with her
academic career while William endured the marketing job with an international
food producer in
Johannesburg
, until he could stand the urban surrounds no longer and moved the family back
to
Natal
to start his career and life-long ambition of a sugar cane farmer.
They
settled in the Eshowe/Ntumeni area of
Zululand
, where William participated in as many of the district’s activities as time
allowed, and was Chairman for several years of the local branch of the Wildlife
Conservation and Preservation Society of South Africa. Their social life was
hectic and life long friendships were forged in that area; and when the farms
were eventually sold, they moved to the coast at Mtunzini and bought a retail
business in nearby Empangeni, which they both managed for a few years before, in
1982, deciding to move the family to Australia to get away from the ugly side of
African politics.
Life
in a new country, in spite of having a common language, was not easy and while
struggling with a variety of business ventures, William started recording his
memoirs of his life in
Zululand
, for the benefit of his Australian grandchildren. He realised that, while
talent might be lacking or undeveloped, he enjoyed the hobby and continued with
his writing, further increasing his efforts on his retirement. He has to date
written four novels, a collection of short stories and an environmental course
aimed at migrants to
Australia
.
One
The
frogmouth was preparing to stir. The sun had disappeared behind the hill to the
west, and the evening was rapidly darkening. It had sat in the old Australian
teak tree all day pretending that it was a broken stump of a vertical growing
branch, the likeness being so realistic that other birds settled within an inch
or two of him seemingly without noticing until he hissed at them. From the
ground he had been almost invisible.
Beak pointing to the sky and
with eyes closed, his attitude suggested that if he couldn’t see you, you
couldn’t see him. And he was pretty well right, as few had seen him. And those
who were looking for him failed to find his roost.
The kookaburras farewelled the
day with a raucous cacophony of noise, and the crows too in the neighbouring
paddock added their harsh cries to the rural racket. A symphony of cricket and
frog sounds added to the noise, as did optimistic cicadas. Their high-pitched
shrieks had dominated the day noises and most were now silent. But the more
energetic were now competing with the dusk sounds of the Alstonville tablelands,
in an attempt to attract a mate.
Sally Tran sat on the farmhouse
verandah absorbing the atmosphere. She had vague memories going back to a rural
village setting in
Vietnam
, which were comparable to this atmosphere; but the components of which differed
greatly.
Bird and insect song
predominated in one final long loud burst before the darkness set in. The
definitions of the rice paddies had faded with the advance of darkness. The
smell of wood fires and spicy cooking wafted across from the dozens of near
neighbours’ as well as her mother’s modest kitchens. The chatter of voices
was somehow subdued and certainly the shouts and laughter of the children had
stilled as they ate their evening meal.
She could recall how she would
watch the steep mountains to the west of the river plain. As the comparative
cool of evening replaced the sluggish heat of the afternoon, the shimmering heat
haze in the air disappeared. The line of mountains, like a jagged
one-dimensional wall, would take on detailed form. Shadows revealed valleys and
ridges. It was clear that there was not just a single line of high hills, but
row after row of them. They changed colour as they changed shape, and contrasted
sharply with the changing colours of the sky. But they then faded to blackness
as the sun sank lower behind them, and their own shadow raced across the paddy
fields, blocking out all detail.
Here the verandah faced north
east. She looked out across a clearing of about a hundred metres, planted to
kikuyu grass and high-lighted with a yellow flowering weed, to the wall of
rainforest remnant that lined the fast running creek. Scattered shade trees such
as Melaleuca, Lemon Scented Gum, and Boxwoods broke the open vista, as did the
uneven line of heavy hardwood fencing poles strung with barbed wire, which
marked the boundary line, and which led her eyes to the huge old Lilli Pilli on
the bank of the creek at the swimming hole.
Instead of the water buffalos of
her vague childhood memory, the massive velvet-skinned, hump-backed Brahman bull
stared at her from his side of the fence as his white-faced Hereford-cross
offspring worked off the last of their surplus energy. Their well-fed mothers
continued grazing the knee-deep mixture of grasses and clovers, which formed
their pasture.
Even when the light was totally
gone, Sally continued to sit and listen, relishing the country peace, and
comparing it with the fume-laden air and hideous sounds of heavily populated
south-western
Sydney
.
She stirred herself at last,
reluctant to break the spell, and switched on the verandah light, which also
activated the spotlight. This illuminated again the soothing scene, which she
had been revelling in. The light intensity was different, and points of interest
in the garden were accentuated. The closely mown lawn gave way to the paddock
grasses after about ten metres, and the light then lit up, and gave definition
to the forest wall.
To complete the magic of the
scene, the frogmouth swooped over the lawn on silent wings and landed on the
grass not a metre from her chair. He had been attracted by the first of his
feast of moths fluttering around the spotlight and falling to the grass, either
burnt by its heat or disorientated by its brightness.
*
* *
Sally’s
early childhood memories were vague. Apart from the dim recollection of village
scenes and the outlook from her parents’ modest home across the rice paddies
in which they worked all day, and the nostalgia and curiosity that this memory
would invoke, she remembered little, which was just as well.
Her parents were teachers,
cultured and highly talented young offspring of professional families. Both had
wanted to make their contribution in raising the standards of their less
advantaged rural fellow countrymen, and after qualifying and marrying they moved
from
Saigon
into the country. They owned their own home, help for the purchase of which had
come from both their families. Their work was satisfying and rewarding, and
their fellow villagers held them in high esteem and affection.
But the savage war caught up
with them.
Sally had no memory at all of
the hours of terror that the family was subjected to by both sides. Their
village was repeatedly bombed, but never destroyed; and as fast as the damage
was repaired so it was again devastated. All of them were continually
pressurised by both sides to join one or the other, when all they wanted to do
was get on with their lives in peace.
And when the war ended and the
hope that some normality would at last prevail new horrors engulfed them. Her
parents were earmarked for re-education. No more were they to make a
contribution to the improvement of the lot of their fellow villagers by being
allowed to continue with their teaching professions. They were subjected to
hours of the most tedious propaganda, which, because they were educated and
intelligent, they knew to be absolutely ludicrous. It was deadly serious though.
Humour played no part in the Communist re-education program.
Sally’s clearest memories were
of this time after the fighting had stopped, and hope was abandoned. Her parents
were tired and depressed beyond belief. They worked in the fields all day long,
and attended the ghastly meetings for most of the night. Every day and every
night, with no respite.
They were worried about missing
family members. They were poverty stricken, with young children to care for. And
they were scared witless as to what was to become of their beloved country and
family. Like so many of their fellow countrymen they sadly saw no hope of a
future for themselves or their children in their homeland, and with profound
regret and with great apprehension, they made plans to flee.
Fortunately, Sally’s memory of
parts of the next year has been totally erased.
Their boat was overcrowded for
the voyage, which they all thought might last a few weeks at most. They evaded
the coastal patrols and eagerly looked for rescue. In vain.
Their food was stolen by pirates
who robbed them of every thing of value, including their dignity, as every woman
above the age of about ten was repeatedly raped. Several people were murdered
when they showed resistance to the atrocities, and two children, one of whom was
Sally’s baby brother were killed in sport, by simply being tossed overboard.
After hours of this sport, they
were abandoned by their tormentors, and allowed to drift on the open sea. They
were left no means of steering the boat, and vital parts from the engine had
been stolen as well as all their diesel fuel. Within a short time the effects of
lack of food were being felt and shortly after that, their water, which they had
been able to keep going by strict rationing and the occasional shower of rain,
ran out. Sally was later told of the scenes of horror on that boat.
Several days after the water ran
out a passing ship rescued them, and a frustrating year of imprisonment started
in the refugee camp in
Hong Kong
.
After what they had experienced
this seemed to be the final indignity. Freedom, which they had sought at such
risk and at such price, was denied them. The days of imprisonment ran into
weeks, and the weeks into months.
Sally remembers this time well.
She was now old enough to clearly remember the conditions, but to her they
seemed normal. This was now her home; and her parents’ normal disposition was
one of nervous apprehension and depression. To her, that is how they were and
always had been.
The fact that they were now in
reasonable health; the fact that they were fed an adequate ration; the fact that
they were not in any immediate danger was obviously a relief, but to realise
that they were unwanted and not valued in the slightest, was a major blow to
their self esteem.
They could have been sent to any
one of a dozen countries, and like most of the refugees were hoping to get to
Europe or
America
. But they were earmarked to go to
Australia
. They were thunderstruck.
As schoolteachers they knew
where it was. Sort of anyway. Mr Tran had been an opera lover and so at least he
knew that it had an opera house. He even knew what it looked like. And he
supposed that any country that could build so beautiful a building and produce
the opera singers that it did, must have something of a cultural life.
But they didn’t know anything
else about it of relevance to them. They knew that convicts had settled the
place originally, and that it had some strange animals, the like of which were
found nowhere else in the world. They knew that it was part of the old
British Empire
, so supposed that English was the language used. Which was disappointing, as
they had fluent French, which would have given them a head start in
Europe
.
They also knew that it was a
vast dry red country, which is why sheep did so well there; although they
couldn’t imagine why sheep should thrive in a desert.
Being highly intelligent, and
well-educated people they incorrectly thought that, as they knew nothing about
Australia
, there was very little of note worth knowing. Even amongst English language
speakers that assessment is commonly found. It was not their fault, however,
that the Australian publicity machine is so hopelessly inadequate that few
people outside the country know anything about it.
Processing the migrants took
some time. News of positive action galvanised them into action. They had already
started rudimentary English language lessons with the thought that they might be
sent to the
USA
, and they doubled their efforts in that direction. They demanded and received
every bit of reading matter about their new country that was available in a
language that they could understand. They did not allow a moment to be wasted in
their search for information, and they were transformed out of their lethargy
into highly motivated, interested and inquiring people once more. Sally thought
that they were gravely ill so great was the change of character.
*
* *
Like
most migrants arriving in
Sydney
they spent their first few months at Villawood. But they were impatient and
wanted to get out into the community. They realised as soon as they arrived that
life was going to be very different for them. It was quickly apparent that their
standard of English was hopelessly inadequate even for simple conversations, let
alone for good job prospects.
Although they knew that it would
improve in time, they had to speed up that improvement, and they thought that
continual daily use of the language and fully integrating themselves into the
community was the way to go. Their first house was a Housing Commission property
in
Fairfield
. It was substantial in comparison to what they had left, but they certainly
weren’t overawed by it, as their families’ homes in the old
Saigon
had been palatial in comparison.
Nevertheless it had everything
they needed. They had good advisers and all the help that
Australia
gives its new residents, especially if they are of non-English speaking
background. They were cheerful, happy and optimistic of their chances. All that
was needed now was some way to generate an income, and they were quick to make
contact with the Vietnamese community already established in Cabramatta for help
in this connection.
Both got private teaching jobs
in quick time. It was as specialist teachers in Maths and Science to Vietnamese
kids who were having difficulties for one reason or another in the school
system. Usually these difficulties were language related, but often they were
because of lack of confidence, and the Trans began getting alarming reports of
racial incidents directed against Asians in the local schools. They found it
hard to believe, as they themselves had had nothing but kindness and cooperation
from the Australians they had met.
The Trans couldn’t help but
wonder if these incidents were not the result of misunderstandings, or even if
the Asians themselves had provoked them, because they had sailed cheerfully into
mainstream
Australia
without the slightest incident. That is until they got new Housing Commission
neighbours a few months after their arrival - beer-swilling, loud foul-mouthed
Okkers of the worst sort.
But by that time with a
reasonable income, they were able to move into a rented house in what they
considered a better area. Every cent that they could, they saved; and by the
time that Sally was old enough to start school, they were able to put a deposit
down on a house next door to friends, and close enough to the school and their
workplace, to ensure that they stayed on in
Fairfield
.
The Trans rarely talked of their
ordeals, but when they did, the tears ran uncontrollably. The reminder of the
loss of so many family members; the brutality of their own people, the people
whom they had dedicated their lives to help; the animal behaviour of
neighbouring fellow Asians who served up death and violence instead of the help
so desperately needed, triggered so strong a physical response that counsellors
wondered at the volume of tears that streamed down their faces, as they confided
their ordeal with detached and unemotional voices.
So strong was the Trans’ work
ethic, and so deeply ingrained was their desire to contribute and help, that as
the years passed Mr Tran inevitably became involved in public affairs. It
resulted in his election onto the Fairfield City Council, where he sat for many
years, and where he quietly argued the case of his fellow migrants in his badly
accentuated and fractured English. His love of his new country and the community
he served seemed exaggerated. And his depth of feeling about that community,
which had been responsible for giving his family a second chance, was
overwhelming. It would have been hard to find a more patriotic Australian.
He would have been disappointed
to learn that few believed that he had joined mainstream
Australia
. The area that he happened to live in, and where he chose to remain, is not
representative of the country as a whole. It contains the largest mix of
migrants to be found anywhere else in the nation, with about a hundred and fifty
different ethnic groups. Australians of Arab background lived alongside those of
Vietnamese, Indian, African, Chinese, French and Russian as well as English.
It is a microcosm of the
world’s ethnic groups, and its shops and restaurants show this as clearly as
do the faces of the people on the footpaths. They rub shoulders with one
another, love one another and irritate one another. Their children play with one
another and sit beside one another at school. Some of them strongly retain their
original national customs and characteristics as they grow up. Others become as
inconspicuous as their Australian-born fellow countrymen because, with practice,
they all speak and dress in exactly the same way.
Sally had some advantages. She
was of normal intelligence, but her parents were teachers, and from the
beginning they helped her. The family discipline was strong and she never had
the slightest bit of trouble with her lessons or her learning, and her final
TEAS score was amongst the highest in the state. But in no way was she ever
considered to be a ‘bookworm’. Her interests were wide, as was her circle of
friends. In spite of her parents’ protective mechanisms she was involved in as
many childhood escapades as any of her peer group. And she grew up in that
teeming, cosmopolitan, and rather cheerless blue-collar suburb, becoming street
wise and self reliant.
Tran had an abiding passion for
opera and classical music. The family’s first few weeks in Australia were
spent in trying to orient themselves, and familiarise themselves in their new
surrounds. They had had the same gut-wrenching fear of not being able to make a
go of things in their new strange surrounds as did any other newcomer, and they
had put their heads down and concentrated on survival.
Their environment was the four
or five blocks of suburbia, in which they lived, shopped and worked. They never
read a newspaper for months and when they did it was one of the Vietnamese
publications. Their English was not good enough to follow the news on the radio
or TV. Their entire energies were directed to earning a living, to accumulating
a bank balance and to learning the language, which was difficult as they rarely
came into contact with English speakers in a social context. In fact their
social life was limited to a weekly visit to the temple at Wetherill Park a mile
or two away; and this was the furthest that they travelled from their home.
Those four or five suburban
blocks became their world, and quite quickly their prison. Literally years went
past before they had the confidence to venture out.
Tran had decided to treat the
family to a night at the Opera House. The price of the tickets was sobering but
the sheer joy of the music and the elegance of the crowd and the excitement of
the Sydney CBD with its skyscrapers and lights proved to be the instrument that
broke their shackles.
They resolved that, cost what it
might, they would venture away from the suburb every weekend. It was that
resolution that finally made them realise the scope that Australia offered. They
saw the parks and gardens for the first time, and became interested in the
animals and birds, which they noticed for the first time. They visited the
beaches; they sailed on the harbour with other tourists and caught the ferries
to other suburbs. They frequented Chinatown, and Darling Harbour. They went up
Centre Point Tower and window-shopped at David Jones, and they were regulars at
the concerts in the parks.
Sally grew up with a good
knowledge of the large city in which she lived, but her home environment was the
few blocks of the Fairfield CBD with its noise and bustle and multinational
community. Her friends remained captives of their surroundings, rarely visiting
other parts of the city, let alone the state and the country as a whole.
Some of her peer group, even
when they were adults, had never worked up the courage to visit the centre of
Sydney. Australian-born and fluent in Australian colloquial English, their
environment and entire knowledge of their country was limited to the
industrialised western suburbs. Their environment prescribed their outlooks on
life. And their prejudices and suspicions remained. Even when financial
independence allowed foreign travel, that travel was back to their countries of
origin to visit family. And they returned to the narrow confines of the western
suburbs, vowing that Australia was the best country in the world in which to
live, without even a basic rudimentary knowledge of anything Australian outside
their depressing suburbs.
The tragedy is that they marry
their neighbours and raise children with the same limited and introspective view
of life.
It takes a strong and
adventurous character to break the cycle. Alex Papadoulous did.
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